The Loyals
by everybreatheverymove
Summary: Medieval AU: In which she doesn't choose her husband, nor does she choose to fall in love with him.
1. Prologue

**This is just a preview of my latest work, alright? I'll post the first full length chapter when it's written and ready, but please tell me what you think already. Thanks, and enjoy the preview!**

**Medieval AU: _In which she doesn't choose her husband, nor does she choose to fall in love with him._**

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It isn't that she was expecting a fairytale. She wasn't, never had been. She had known since she was of age, since she had past her eighteenth year of life, that she was due to wed. Who, she had never known. Of course, as a girl with expectations and hopes and fantasies, she'd hoped for a Prince. He would be tall and handsome, well-tempered and mannered. He would be smart, and he could teach her things. How to hunt, how to earn other's respect, how to love and how to be loved.

And she had been rewarded with him in the end, or perhaps just as close as one could ever get.

Her husband, her long-awaited prince, though she knows he was far from being her soulmate, was perfectly well-groomed. He had bright eyes and deep tanned flesh, but his manners were sometimes slacking. He was kind, and judging by the way he had held her hand during the ceremony, whether it be out of choice or obligation, he had been gentle. He smiled around her and touched her lightly and didn't make her feel pressured in the slightest.

She just wasn't sure what would happen when their guests, his guests, would dissipate and she would be left to handle him, to join him on his bed and reveal herself. Perhaps his attitude would change, his entire charade would drop and he would show his true colours, show her how he was rough and brutal and aggressive.

She was worried, to say the least. Her mother and her sisters had shared their knowledge, their experiences with her. It would be painful, and she would hurt. But eventually the anguish would subside and she would enjoy it, she would enjoy him. Or, at least she would have to pretend she did. What if she didn't? What if he didn't? If she couldn't satisfy him, couldn't feed his demands, then what purpose would she serve? That of wife? Maybe he would find his release somewhere else, in the arms of other women. She has not even touched him yet and she was already afraid of him choosing a whore over her, choosing another woman to please him, to let him use her. The thought of her husband, though she barely knows him and barely even wants to, lying with someone else disgusts her. She was his, he was hers. It was the law, the vow they had both just taken. And she was brought up to do anything and everything she could to save her life and her family. Even if it included her doing things she may not feel comfortable with. She would keep him, she had to.

This was it now. Her fate, her future, her life. She'd been born into it, forced into a planned marriage from an early age, hearing about her groom since she was only twelve. Her father had told her why they were shipping her away; her marriage to the Avery heir would guarantee their alliance, though she fails to see how there couldn't have been another way to forge the families into one. She would be his Queen, in time, when he rose to the throne and took over his father's duties. She would be by his side, rising to power and living the life she always thought she wanted. She would be Queen, but she would have to force herself into loving him in the first place.

"My Lady," Her husband holds a hand out to her, waiting for her accord to follow him up the stairs. His face is almost blank, though he softly smiles at her and she nervously blushes under his gaze. He was definitely handsome.


	2. Chapter One

**I'm glad people are looking forward to reading this, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing it! Be kind, and leave a review please! So, as usual, enjoy! :)**

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**CHAPTER ONE**

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"Mother."

"I'm sorry."

The older Kepner seems saddened, almost sorrowful by her daughter's upcoming nuptials. She knows that it was her own fault, hers and her husband's, but they had failed to see another choice.

They needed the allegiance, and the support of the other House. And if marrying their only remaining daughter was the only way to do that, then so be it.

"My sweet child." She strokes her daughter's hair gently, running her palm over the soft curls and closing her eyes. She takes in the moment, savours in the young woman's smell and innocence.

As much as a part of her regrets the decision, the deal, she knows that there was no other way. They needed this, had almost begged for it, but in return they'd have to lose a child, have to send her away and hear of her making new life with a stranger.

Though, was he really such a stranger? He was known, and his father ruled the land so he definitely wasn't some unknown wanderer from down in The Fall.

"Do not call me that." The younger woman sighs, pulling her mother's hand from her hair and backing away.

April Kepner was still young, untouched, unlooked at. She was only eighteen years of age, only eighteen years of inexperience in a human body. She wasn't ready for this, despite the months, years even, of preparing. She knew the day would come.

The day she would leave, be shipped away, be dragged far unwillingly to marry a man and carry his child, his heir, though he was only an heir himself.

"You lost the right to call me that when you signed me away."

"April, we've done this for you."

The red haired girl rolls her eyes, clasping her hands in her lap and eyeing the older woman carefully. She chews on her lip and stares blankly ahead, "Which part of this was for my benefit? The part where I marry a man I've never met, or the part where I lay down and let him use me as a bed?" She raises a brow when her mother swallows a breath, obviously perturbed by the image of her youngest daughter vulnerable.

"Your father did-"

"My father did this for himself." April corrects before she can start, standing up from her stool and patting down her ling dress. She stares at the deep ivory colour, hands carefully wrapping around the material lying around her hips. "He did this for himself, and for you, and for the Averys. He did not do this for me. No part of this is for my benefit, so do not tell me that it was."

She blinks, hazel eyes briefly shutting and gulping, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a marriage to get through. And you're more than welcome to attend."

* * *

They're married sometime in the late afternoon.

The sky is growing dark, the birds have gone away and the only thing left is them, and guests, and wine. Lots of wine. And she will be needing a lot of it.

"Lord Avery." She tries.

"I have a name, you know." He points out.

Her new husband is surprisingly decent, but she's not sure if his manners and kindness are just an act he's putting on to keep up appearances.

He's handsome, even a fool could see that much, but his attractiveness is more boyishly pretty than a masculine grace. His stare is strong, his green eyes sharp like a viper's, and he speaks in such a low and deep voice that she almost fails to hear him. He talks with something she can't quite out her finger on, not a stutter and not a lisp, but it draws her in and she's curious.

"Would you like me to call you by your name?" She crosses her legs the best she can beneath the table with the heavy dress weighing her down. Her small hands fondle her wine glass, watching as the liquids swirls and her lips moisten at the sight.

"Since we're now married, I would think that would be a good place to start." He suggests and for a second she forgets his name, his ranking.

"Jackson."

"There you have it." He smirks softly, the corners of his lips turning up and he glances at her from the corner of his eye.

Her breath pauses, hand tightening around the cup in her palm when he looks at her. She isn't entirely sure how someone can convey so much emotion in one look. He was amused, at her, with her. But she's still not sure if he's toying with her or if his sentiments are real. Is he truly this light-hearted, or will his demeanour change once he gets her alone and out of the public's gaze?

"And do you know my name?"

"Do I have to?" He turns to face her then, fully and attentively,hand reaching across the dinner table to grasp hers, "You're my wife. Do you need a name?"

April stares, at him and his hand wrapped tightly around her own, "I may be your wife, but I still demand respect. So, yes. I need a name, and I have a name. My name-"

"April." He interrupts, looking away from her and dropping her hand back onto the wooden table. He licks his lips before he softly grins, "I know your name, you fool. I did marry you after all."

"I'm not a fool." She challenges, a clear frown on her face and her grip around the wine glass tightens.

"You accepted this marriage without ever meeting me. You must be a fool."

"How terrible are you?" She's curious, desperate to know almost. Was he short-tempered, easily irritable? Or was he rude, and disgusting? Did he have a reputation of treating women badly? Did he have secret fetishes? Just what was he expecting from her exactly?

"Isn't that up to you to decide?" He's going to irritate her, and play with her, and toy with her nerves and emotions. She can already feel it, she knows it. He's going to destroy her.

However, before she can respond, there is already a man standing tall at the other end of the hall, goblet in hand proud smile on his old face.

"It is time for the bedding!"

"No." She mumbles under her breath, eyes closing and knuckles turning white.

For a moment, she had forgotten where she was and what was now expected of her.

She had made peace with the fact that she'd have to part her legs and let her husband discover her. But she had made no such promise about letting their families watch him do it.

"No?"

She turns at the sound of her husband's voice (and she is still finding it quite strange to refer to him as such given her very basic knowledge of the man). He's midly smirking again, standing up from his seat and folding his hands together in front of him. He stares down at her, as though he's truly amused by her expression.

"No." She repeats, eyes staring into his with a frown and lick of her lips.

She's grounded and she knows what she wants. But, on the other hand, she's also vulnerable and precious and innocent and she's not ready for an audience to watch her undress and writhe. She's not completely comfortable with herself, in her skin, with her looks, and she becomes timidly bashful under certain conditions.

"I have agreed to marry you. And I have agreed to become your wife, and your future Queen. I have taken a vow, a promise, to keep you satisfied, to please you. To let you watch me. But I am not- I cannot- Please." Her voice almost breaks. Her tongue dries and she looks down, red hair cradling her face as she stares at the floor, admiring the gentle curved patterns. "Please." She whispers, guard breaking and letting him see her true colours.

She's not hard, and she's not strong. She's a young woman with a heart of gold and an innocence that's soon going to break. She's fragile.

"There will be no bedding."

She thankfully sighs at his words, letting her head drop in relief and biting on her lip. At least she owes him that much.

"But, My Lord-"

He groans loudly then, dropping the palms of his hands against the table and sending the older man his deadliest stare, eyes sharp and face blank, "There will be none."

"But it is a tradition, My Lord, that the wedded couple consummate their vows in front of the guests. It is the only way of knowing whether the bride was truly pure."

"Well, traditions change." Jackson argues, eyes blinking rapidly as he stares the man down. "Do they not?" He raises a brow and April almost has to laugh at his look.

She feels slightly sorry for the elder man, though her face remains expression-less as she stands to join her betrothed.

The role of wife is hers now, and she has to begin sooner rather than later. She may not know him that well, or love him at all, or even want to for that matter, but she is his wife now, his Queen, so she has to start acting it.

She leaves her goblet of wine down on the wooden table and reaches for his hand, this time wrapping her own palm around his hard knuckles. Her fingers caress his skin and she licks her lips, eyes flickering up to meet his as he turns to face her with a confused frown. She's moderately confused herself by her actions, unsure why she was suddenly so eager to touch him or be by his side.

Maybe it was because he was defending her and, in a twisted way, guarding her honour. Or perhaps it was because she had just pledged to pleasure him and he didn't want the people of his court to see such an intimate moment.

"Will you join me now?" She knows what she's asking of him, what she's asking of herself. But it was the only thing to get them out of there.

He takes her hand without a second thought, and she finds herself following after him rather than the other way around.

She's just grateful that she won't be forced under the gaze of a dozen people waiting for her to bleed.

* * *

"Do you need a hand, My Lady?"

She shakes her head, back still when he touches her ivory dress, his flesh not even meeting her skin and she shivers. Whether it was out of fear or comfort, she fails to know.

"I'm fine."

April tenses, hands holding up the front of her dress as she keeps her back turned to him, feeling his heavy gaze relying on her body. She blinks and gently chews on her bottom lip as she lets her dress fall, hands dropping to her sides unsurely.

"I believe you're staring, My Lord."

She hears him laugh, and her teeth dig deeper into her lip when she feels his hands grasp her waist. "Did you expect me not to?" He asks her, his low voice echoing against her skin as he leans down to kiss her flesh, lips pressed against the base of her neck.

She sighs, though it's more of a shaky breath, and she lets her eyes drift shut.

"Are you cold?" He runs his hands down her arms, feeling her small goosebumps beneath his fingertips. He grasps her hands and threads his fingers through her own, resting them against her abdomen.

April loosens her shoulders, glancing down at their hands against the cloth of small gown. "No."

"Then why are you shivering?"

She shrugs lightly, lower lip trembling and eyes closing as he moves a hand up her chest, grazing the middle of her breasts. "You have many questions, it seems."

Jackson softly laughs, lifting his hand to cradle her neck, thumb tracing over her carotid, "And yet, you don't give me many answers." He tells her, as though he was pointing it out and she was not already aware of her occasional shyness.

She's not sure how she feels about this, about his power, about him standing behind her and pressing himself into her gently. He isn't doing anything she wouldn't have expected, and so far he had kept his hands to himself extremely well.

His hand turns her neck so she faces him from the side, lips parted and breath uneven. He runs his thumb along her jaw, leaning forward and coaxing her mouth open with his own, slipping his tongue past her teeth with need. She moans quietly, fingers running over his hand and tugging him closer by the arm. She lets him discover her mouth, allows him to steal her breath. She goes to turn, to make this easier for them both, until he grasps her hips roughly and holds her to him, back pressed against his chest.

He draws his mouth away from hers and rests his forehead down on her shoulder, "Will I be the first?"

She gingerly tilts her head back against his own shoulder, shivering once again when he cradles her neck. He seems to have some soft of fascination with it, she thinks. "The first to what?"

"To fuck you." She can feel his smirk against her skin, and she closes her eyes with a deep sigh.

She has never been a fan of men talking like that, crude and vulgar, like they have no respect for women. But somehow, the way he says it and the way he stares at her, make her believe he's different. His eyes make her think that he won't treat her like a rag doll, like one of the whores that she so desperately prayed to not end up like.

"Yes."

He moves his hand from her neck to one of the straps of her gown, fingering the material before he tugs it down her arm loosely. "I'm glad."

Maybe he's more proud than she had originally thought. Maybe he has more respect for her, for women. Maybe he wouldn't be so bad.

He pulls down the other strap and lets the garment fall down her body, pooling around her feet as she looks down at it. He holds her neck again, pulling her back against him and tilting her head back, voice low against her ear, "Do you want me to fuck you?"

Does she have another choice? A way out of it?

He can't be so terrible.

"Yes."

Before she can react, his hand that rested against her stomach slips lower, fingers rubbing her center and she jumps softly when she feels a shooting sensation curse up her spine.

He chuckles at her reaction, pressing his lips to her shoulders as she shifts, legs parting and faintly crying when he slips a finger inside of her. Her muscles tighten and she feels her back arch away from him, hands gripping his arms for support as he works her body into a climax.

It takes her a while, though probably shorter than he would have liked, for her to soak.

His teeth graze the skin of her shoulder, tongue tracing her flesh like an animal and nibbling, softly pecking, at her.

She feels her hips move, convulse, involuntarily and out of her control, as he finishes touching her, softly pinching and toying with her bundle of nerves.

"My Lord."

He isn't sure if she is calling out to him or crying in pleasure, but he smirks despite his sweet confusion and roughly pulls her backwards against his body, pressing his engorged self against her bottom.

"Can you feel that?" He takes her hand as she continues to writhe and ache under his fingers. He brings her hand around her waist to push and feel the swollen mound of his pants, her fingers curling around him over the light cloth.

She goes to move, to return the favour, feeling herself come down, until he stops her, hand wrapped around her wrist.

April licks her lips, turning to face him, only now realizing her full state of undress. She grins, gripping him tighter in her fist and biting down on her lip as she stares at his lips. She pushes into him, lifting her right leg up to his side when he grasps the back of her knee and pulls her closer to him. He stares at her lips, though his green eyes flicker from her mouth to her bare breasts.

She notices his staring and parts her lips, softly curling them into a wicked grin as she tilts her head back to look up at him properly, "Where do you want to put it?"

It comes out as a whisper from past her lips and he smiles, brushing her hair behind her ears as he licks his own lips.

"You need to rest."

He's done something to her. She has snapped, broken. Her back aches and her teeth clack and she craves it, him. Is it possible to crave something you've never had?

Jackson backs her up toward the bed in the room, pushing on her shoulders gently so she falls against the mattress. She leans back on her elbows, "I thought you were going to fuck me?"

"Tomorrow." He promises, surprised yet glad of her sudden awakening. She's proving to not be as boring as he had first thought. "I will destroy you."


	3. Chapter Two

**Enjoy and review please! :)**

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**CHAPTER TWO**

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When morning finally breaks, she's surprised to find that her body has mingled with his own throughout the night.

Her legs are his legs as his hands are hers. Her sprawled red hair is thrown across his chest and his long eyelashes rest upon the top of her head. It's intimate. Perhaps even a little bit too much.

There is next to no sunshine is their room, the only ray of light coming in past the window and sprinkling along the floor beside the bed.

Her eyes feel heavy, tired, and she moves her small hand away from his stomach to cover her mouth when a yawn escapes past her lips.

"I take it that you didn't sleep well?"

She quickly flickers her gaze up to him, to her husband, and she swallows a breath, throat tightening with a sheepish smile and blush, "What makes you say that?"

"You look tired. Are you not well-rested enough?" Jackson asks, closing his eyes again as though he's going to drift back off to sleep.

April frowns, "No, no, I am. I just- I am exhausted."

"You're exhausted without being tired? Well, aren't you something special."

She's undecided if he was just being funny with her or having a joke at her expensive.

"It's not the same thing."

"Well then, please, enlighten me." He teases her and turns over, his muscled back now facing her and she swallows deeply.

Why couldn't he sleep with clothes on?

She flutters her lashes, laying back down against her pillows, "I can't explain it."

"I see." He almost laughs at her, and she frowns.

April rolls her eyes and reaches for one of the cushions beneath his head, pulling it away from him and smacking him over the head with the pillow.

Before she has a second to comprehend what's happening, he's rolling over to grab her wrists, holding her body tight beneath his.

"Do not hit me."

She swallows, raising a brow half out of curiosity, half in pride, "What are you going to do about it?"

Jackson glares down at her, fingertips pressing her palms and pushing their hands against her stomach lightly. She notices him staring at her lips and she licks them.

"You wouldn't hit a woman, would you?"

"Are you a woman?" He voices, and she silently gasps when he lets go of her wrists and runs his hands down the sides of her legs.

She stills when he touches her thighs, pushing and tracing her skin with his own and narrowing his eyes as he continues to stare down at her.

"How does a man know you're truly a woman if you've never spread your legs for him before?"

She grinds her teeth, slapping her hands down onto his shoulders, "You seemed pretty sure last night."

He smirks then, bringing his hands back down to her legs and cupping her knees.

"Have you always been so-"

"What?" The redhead frowns, nostrils flaring and digging her fingers into his shoulder-blades.

Jackson pauses, taking a second to let his eyes sweep her body. He can feel her lay flat beneath him, though her back is slightly arched and her arms are forward. She's nervous, though she's trying her best to hide it. And he smiles again, noticing his new wife's uneasy breath.

"Nevermind. It's not the same thing."

He steals her words, literally and suddenly, and she's unable to form coherent speech patterns when he grabs the hem of her nightgown and pulls it up her thighs.

April closes her eyes, feeling her throat run dry and her skin shiver.

She wasn't supposed to be enjoying it, him. But his eyes and his voice were piercing through her soul, and the combination of both was deadly.

And then he smiled, or smirked or kissed and she was putty in his rather perfect hands.

"Did you take a vow?"

She lifts her head, opening one eye to peek down at him, taking in his new position against her lap. He had moved lower, torso to her calves and elbows by her knees.

"I am sorry?"

He smirks again, and she softly groans at the image. He should never be allowed to.

"Did you take a vow to keep your legs closed?"

"To my Church, yes. I did. I- Is that a problem for you?" She raises a brow, confused and slightly perturbed by his question.

He sighs, drawing her silk gown up her body and grabbing her hips. He drags her slightly closer, hands bunching the cloth around her hips. "Until your marriage?"

"Yes."

"Good." He licks his lips and bats his lashes, that she recognises as long for a strong man. He's built and muscled, but his face is almost too handsome, too pretty.

She shifts her feet, placing them flat against the mattress and wrapping her arms around the back of his neck, fingers scraping at his skull. "Are you not relieved that you weren't handed some cheap whore instead?"

He chuckles, moving away from her hold to rest his forehead against her abdomen, brushing his nose along her pelvis, eyes closed and breath heavy against her skin.

She could quite easily intoxicate him, with her sickeningly sweet smell and buttery features. She could corrupt his nervous system, break his barrier and own him, make him weak, and he would let her.

Taking a deep breath, Jackson leans down to kiss her flesh, lips pressed to the skin below her naval. "I am."

She feels his hands grasp her hips again, and she lets out a shriek when he shifts them, pulling her on top of him. Her eyes widen at their position and he grins, running his hands up her sides and dragging the nightgown up her body.

She slips it off, raising her arms and throwing it down onto the floor beside the bed. Realising that she was naked, April gulps, hands flying to cover her breasts.

She can feel him teasingly pressed against her centre, but she's less exposed down there and she worries more about her chest.

His hands cup her wrists again, roughly, pulling her hands away from herself and keeping them held tight against her side in his hold.

"I am, because that means that I will be the only man to ever be inside you."

She bites her lip then, eyes watching his and glancing down at his chest.

He can't be so terrible. And she is going to have to do it at some point.

Pulling her hands away from his grasp, she rests them flat against his toned stomach, fingertips tapping his darker skin as she tentatively moves her hips. She feels him shift beneath her body, and she figures that she must have been doing something right so she continues, pressing harder into him and swirling her hips back and forth repeatedly, waiting until she gets a reaction out of him.

He grunts, hands blindly finding her thighs and pushing her down to keep her closer, to make sure she doesn't move.

She could do it; intoxicate him, kill him.

"Jesus." April whispers, watching as he does the same underneath her, hips grinding upward into hers as she continues to rock back and forth, applying a little more pressure every now and again. She could do it.

She's the first to lick her lips this time, feeling her chest begin to pant and his uneven breath beneath her. Moving a hand lower, she presses it against herself, noticing his gaze shift from her chest down to her heated mound.

"Christ." He mutters, green eyes squinting as she rubs frantically, and he can feel her moistening against him, above him, over him.

How she could she be real? How could a virgin bride with no history or experience be such a whore?

She gasps when she feels herself throbbing, insides erupting, back arching and neck muscles contracting.

"Look at me."

She obeys, glancing back down to his face from the ceiling and watching his eyes intently. She leans down and presses her lips to his, tongue lapping and teeth shattering.

He moves a hand from her body to her face, cupping the side of her face and running his hands through her hair as it falls. He kisses her back, enjoying the taste and the view and letting her come apart.

When her breathing evens out, she pulls away with a silent sob, eyes tight and mouth wide.

April catches her breath before she speaks again, voice to his mouth and hair cascading over her face disorderly, "Am I a woman now?"

He doesn't reply, instead choosing to bring his hands down between them, untying the strings of his night-pants. She catches his gaze and takes over, hands stopping his own so she can do it herself.

She moves by his side to slip the pants away from him, before she resumes her position above his lap. Glancing down at his length, she's reminded that she was a simple girl with simple needs, and that maybe those needs weren't quite as ready to be satisfied as they thought they were. He was a lot larger than what she had heard her sisters describe of their husbands, perhaps by a lot, on second glance.

"Are you going to spread your legs now?"

She pauses at his words.

Maybe he wasn't so terrible. Maybe he was decent, kind even. He had been perfectly sweet and giving to her already, and she knew that she would have to start giving back sooner rather than later.

"Are you going to do it for me?"

He smirks up at her, hands running up her naked sides to pull her into place above him. She swallows a nervous breath when she feels his tip meet her entrance, her hands clawing at his chest and his fingers finding her breasts.

Within a second, she can feel him in her. Painfully, slowly, and she's unsure if she will ever be able to breathe right again. It hurts, though a little less than she had been told it would.

Nervously moving her hips, she chews on her lip as she moves, knees by his sides scraping the bed sheet. He lets go of her breasts and removes her hands from his chest, instead holding them in his own by the sides of her thighs.

There are no feelings, only comfort-seeking and forced vows, and it's not exactly how she had planned it.

Granted, he wasn't forcing her, or touching her badly, or being rough. He was treating her nicely, softly and she was thankful for at least that much.

"Oh." She whines quietly when he pushes deeper into her, and she lowers herself further. It hurts, but the pleasure slowly starts to override the pain as she rocks against him, hips curling and muscles shaking.

Jackson closes his eyes, the sight of her being too much. He hadn't expected her to be like this.

On one hand, he had been told that he was marrying a prude from the North. She wouldn't do much, and he's most likely have to force himself on her if he wanted to produce an heir.

And on the other end, when he was younger, he was told that he'd be pushed into marrying a young whore.

But she was neither. She was a gentle contrast between both. Her inexperience and voice made her so sweet that he felt like he was tasting the forbidden fruit. But her red hair and pale skin made her much more wild, and touchable, and open to him.

She was neither. She was like a sweet candy with sea salt. She was his.

He rolls them over then, pining her on her back and holding her hands by the sides of her head. He licks his lips as he stares down at her.

She was intoxicating, and he couldn't find it in himself to be patient anymore. She was too much.

Sensing her obvious arousal, he pushes deeper, hips thrusting harder into hers and pressing his whole body against her own. She moans, gasps, when he grasps the back of her left leg, puling it up by his side to angle himself better.

"Fuck." He grunts, mouthing pressing into her beating chest and tongue touching her, the sickly flavour of her sweaty skin eliciting another groan. He knits his brows when she moves her arms around his neck and cups the sides of his face.

"Look at me." She whispers, "please."

He does, eyes watching hers with a soft frown. She smiles and chews her lip when her back arches, teeth clamping down on her lip. Her legs tremble and she weakly continues to let him take her, pushing harder into her for the last few thrusts he gives.

He almost collapses on top of her, holding himself up by her sides as he comes down from his climax, and she does the same, both of their breaths heavy and her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Now I know you're a woman."

She almost laughs, but chooses to sigh with a grin instead.

"Well, thank you."

Jackson nods, forehead still creased as he contemplates something.

"What is it?" She rubs her hands up and down his arms, resting on his biceps and pulling her legs up around his waist, heels digging into his bottom.

The man brushes it off, wetting his lips before he kisses her briefly and moves to stand.

"My Lord-" April sits up, pulling the sheets to cover her chest as she watches him pull his pants back up.

Was that it now? He had gotten what he wanted and he was done?

"It's nothing you should worry yourself with." He reassures her, leaning over to brush a strand of hair from her face, "I have to go do something. This is my problem. "

"And you're only just remembering this now?" She frowns and pushes his hand away, kneeling on the bed and keeping the cream-coloured sheet around her body, suddenly feeling ashamed. "Now that I've bled? Are you going to tell the King that his son's new wife has been fucked? I'm sure he'll be proud."

She sounds bitter, pissed, ticked and he rolls his eyes, pulling his shirt back up from the chair in the corner.

"I'm not going to tell him about this!"

"But you are supposed to! I'm positive the court would be happy to know that the virgin girl let you fuck her! Will they be proud, do you think?"

He tries to ignore her, going about his business and redressing.

"Or maybe you should be the proud one. With that thing in your trousers, I'm sure your father didn't expect any less than a good fucker-"

"Will you shut up?!" He snaps, turning back around to face her. He blankly faces her, eyes wide and she does the same.

Maybe he wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he would be decent. He had been kind enough with her up until now.

Stepping closer to the bed, he leaves his shirt partially unopened as he approaches her and she's suddenly afraid of the man that she had been open with five minutes earlier.

She had rattled his cage, ticked him off. He had snapped. She had made him.

His green eyes darken and his hands clasp by his sides before he touches her, pulling the sheet away from her body and staring into her eyes. "Do you really think that people care about your honour? Do you?" He shakes his head slowly, biting down on his lip for a short second and licking his lips when she gulps, taking an uneasy breath, "I had people telling me to fuck you bloody." He informs her.

April squints her eyes when tears begin to form, taken back by his new demeanour. "What?" She's afraid, almost scared, of him now.

But he wouldn't cause her pain, she was sure of that much.

"They told me to hurt you, and fuck you, and make you mine. And make sure that you knew that. They told me to spread your legs and fuck you dry. And I did."

"But-"

He kind of smirks, kind of shrugs, and looks at her in a way she's never seen, "And you liked it. Didn't you?" He asks in a husky voice, eyes squinted and teeth gracing his lower lip as he glances down at her naked body. He reaches a hand to her neck, ignoring her weak protests and runs his thumb down the front, "You liked it. You liked me, and that thing in my trousers."

He catches her soft blush and continues, moving his hand down her chest, fingers dancing between her breasts.

April doesn't flinch, doesn't blink. She just stares at him, teary-eyed and vulnerable, "I hate you."

"Well, I don't love you either."

She could do it. She could intoxicate him, kill him.

And he couldn't risk that.


	4. Chapter Three

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* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

* * *

Her mother had always told her to never eavesdrop on people. It was rude, and un-ladylike. But as a young woman, she had learnt that it was sometimes necessary.

"So, what do you propose we do?" She doesn't recognise the man's voice, but he sounds older than her, than them.

"We kill him. Did you have another plan in mind? If so, I would love to hear it." Her husband speaks and she grimaces, noticing the way Jackson places his hands on his hips with a frown.

"What about the girl?"

She frowns at Jackson's response, "She will never find out."

What was he going to do now? Kill someone who didn't appreciate him or his family? Kill a peasant who couldn't afford a debt? She had always assumed that he may be kind-hearted deep down, that he may be able to find a soft spot for certain people or certain things, but maybe she had been wrong.

Judging by his attitude with her in the morning, she was now under the assumption that he was a spoiled rich boy with too many rights and too many men under his watch. No one with a kind heart and a good soul was that disrespectful.

No gentleman would ever use her for her body, would ever trick her and fool her into bed, though she was technically already in his bed by law.

She ducks her head back behind the wall when he turns towards her, her hands gripping the concrete. It feels cold beneath her fingertips and she sighs, closing her eyes in relief when she hears them move away.

Thank the Lord and Saviour.

She had been following throughout most of the day, listening in on conversations with his Guard, and peeking around corners whenever he was alone.

She was suspicious of him to say the least, and she didn't trust the future of her country to be placed in his hands, however perfect and soft they may first appear.

April opens her eyes then, gathering the skirt of her dress and she heads down the steps leading into the kitchen.

This is her home now too, she may as well make the most of it.

The size of the kitchen at her House back in the North barely scratched the surface of this one. It was immense, perhaps too much for a room that baked and served food.

Spotting a tray of fruit on the counter side, she quickly picks up a couple of strawberries. They're fresh and ripe, and she smiles. They had always been her favourite fruit and essence.

"What are you doing, Milady?"

April turns around at the woman's voice, seeing a taller brunette stood behind her. She's holding a basket full of freshly cooked bread and she eyes the redhead curiously.

"I was... feeling peckish, you see." She sheepishly grins and the brunette, who she remembers goes by the name of Jo, nods with a wink.

"Sure thing." The younger woman drops the basket on the counter beside the fruit and grabs her apron from the wall beside them. She ties it around her waist as she speaks, fingertips tying loose knots behind her back, "Your husband said we aren't supposed to serve any food before dinner tonight."

April shrugs, tugging the corner of her lip into the smile, "You didn't serve it, I helped myself." She retorts, licking her lips after she pops the first strawberry into her mouth. "What he doesn't know won't kill him."

"Oh, really?"

The redhead stills, almost dropping her treasured fruit when she hears him. Why the heck did he have to pop up everywhere?

She turns to face him, and Jo quickly nods before she hurries away, grabbing the bread as she goes. Clearly no one liked being around him that much. That, or they weren't allowed to.

April swallows a breath. She's not scared of him, or afraid of what he could have done to her. She's angry, and peeved and she wants nothing more than to hit him, to slap him across the face.

But if she did, her future reign would be over and she would be left for dead.

"And here I was thinking that you would like to see me killed." Jackson steps closer, eyeing the fruit in her hand.

"If I wanted to see you killed, I would do it myself." She informs him, terribly honestly and he smirks when she takes a step away from him, bottom meeting the old wooden counter.

She scratches the back of her arm tiredly when he nears her, nerves gripping her skin. She isn't too fond of being trapped in close quarters with him anymore.

He grips her wrist, pulling away from her arms roughly and holding it down, "You should finish that." He blinks and she catches his dropped gaze.

April glances down to the strawberry in her other hand and mildly blushes, biting her lip before she raises her free hand, dabbing the fruit across her lips. Why should she not be allowed to torture him a little bit?

"Eat it." Jackson sigh, ignoring her innocent grin as he continues to stare down at her mouth.

She licks the edge of the red berry softly before she squints and pulls it away, "Are you sure you don't want it?" She opens her mouth and tilts her head back, raising the fruit to his lips. She possesses at least some soft of power over him.

He traps her against the ledge, hand still holding onto her wrist tightly and the other resting by his side. She leans into him, chewing on her bottom lip when he refuses to taste it.

"Please."

She already knows how to frustrate him, how to rattle his cage, how to get on his last nerve but she wants to make him explode.

She wants to see him, his anger and his pride and everything in between, erupt.

She wants him to be ruined.

She hates him.

And she's already learning how to kill him.

"I hear strawberries are an aphrodisiac."

She traces the ripe fruit back and forth against his lips, barely and gently.

Jackson stares down at the fruit with a slight smirk. "Are you trying to test me?"

"I'm trying to arouse you." She smiles, tossing her red hair behind her shoulder and taking a deep breath. She's still almost inexperienced. She's still shy at heart. "Is it working?"

He doesn't reply, instead just opens his mouth and grabs half of the fruit between his teeth, scraping her fingertips on the way and she pauses when he sucks on the end, as though he was emptying the juices.

He swallows the bite and raises a brow at her stunned look, "Would you like some?"

April falters, eyeing back and forth between his lips and his eyes. Damn him.

Before she can respond again, his mouth is attacking hers, tongue slipping past her willing lips and teeth biting her flesh. She drops the half-eaten berry when he moves his hands to her waist, gripping her tight and pushing the low of her back into the strong wooden table.

She moans at the pressure, back arching and fingers scraping at his neck when he picks her up, a small gasp escaping past her bruised lips. His thumbs dig into her covered skin and she knits her brows together when he steps between her legs, hands moving to her thighs.

She moves a hand out when he grabs her wrist, accidentally pushing the tray of fresh fruit to the ground and he laces his fingers through hers, pinning her hand down.

His other hand slips past her dress, roughly grabbing the layers and pulling them up her legs. She parts her legs again, shuffling to sit on the counter when he lifts her up.

Cupping the sides of his face, she pulls him closer by tossing her legs around his waist to drag him in.

His free hand leaves her side to slide across her neck, thumb brushing her carotid as he traces down her chest, carelessly tugging on the front of her dress to snap the buttons. She softly cries when his lips leave hers to follow her skin until he reaches the top of her breasts, teeth scratching and tongue drawing against her flesh.

He softly suckles on her skin, staring up at her face as he does and watching with a wicked grin when she closes her eyes with a pleasurable sob.

Her hands roam across the counter she leans against, until one finds her hair and she softly pulls on the red strands when he slides a hand beneath her dress, finding her modest underwear.

April jumps when he pulls the small cloth aside, slipping a finger between her folds as his other hand grips her waist to hold her.

She can't help but enjoy it, despite her conscience telling her that's it's wrong for a man to be so cruel towards his woman.

She bites her lip again, feeling her back ache and her chest pant against his lips, but she gasps in shock when he backs away from her.

Stepping away, Jackson licks his lips and pulls his hands out from under her dress. She quickly flips the gown back down her legs and sits up, breath slowing and eyes wide.

Damn him.

He watches her gulp, in heat and want, and maybe something close to lust.

April drops her gaze to his hands covering his pants and a soft crimson colour rises to her cheeks when she spots his clear arousal.

"How was that aphrodisiac?"

Jackson smirks, lifting a hand to her face and pressing his fingertips to her lips. "Bite." Was he asking or demanding?

She complies, teeth pushing into his finger lightly, tongue carefully trailing along the pads. She tastes herself on him, gently sucking on his fingertips as he runs a hand through her hair.

"You tell me."

She hates him.


	5. Chapter Four

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* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

* * *

He hadn't returned to their room by the time she had fallen asleep.

Despite her loathing of the man, she hopes that he was not spending the night in the arms of another woman. He was hers. She was his. In every sense of the word, no matter their cold feelings toward one another.

She had quietly made her way up to her chamber after they had dined, after he had made her finish her chicken and almost force-fed her pudding. She needed the weight and curves, he had said, claiming that she was too skinny and that she might need to get used used to carrying around a few extra pounds now that she would be carrying his child.

Nothing was definite, nobody knew if she was in fact already carrying his heir, their heir, their child. But she hoped that the time would come sooner rather than later so she had a chance of escaping him on occasion.

He wasn't horrible or harsh, but his gaze was strong and intense and he sometimes made her feel like no matter what she did, she was doing it wrong.

April had slept with her hair down, on her stomach with her hands hidden beneath the pillow where she laid her head. Her mother had always told her that she didn't know how to sleep like a true lady, but she'd never paid much close attention to it.

She was positive that she had locked the door on her side before she had changed into her nightgown. Her dress was still somewhere on the floor and the deep red gown hung high around her thighs, her ankles crossed and head to the side.

She wakes when she feels the warm sunlight creeping along her skin, her back softly arching into the mattress when she feels a hand against the curve of her spine.

Her eyes fly open at the realisation, at the feeling, and she stills. Her legs clamp shut and she sighs into her pillow. She knows it's him. She already recognises his touch.

"I thought I locked the door."

"You think you can lock me out of my own bedroom?"

She shivers when Jackson grips her sides, thumbs tracing over the low of her back.

April breathes deeply, cursing herself when she enjoys the feeling, the soft massage he runs up and down her back.

"Where were you?"

"I don't believe that's any of your business."

She rolls her eyes with a frown and she lets her legs slowly drift loose, apart.

"Were you with a whore?"

"If I were, would you be jealous?"

The redhead closes her eyes again when he runs his hands up her shoulder until her reaches the thin straps of her gown, gently pulling them down her arms.

"If you were, I would kill her for sleeping with another woman's husband."

"I have trouble believing that you're capable of murdering anybody." Jackson tells her, slipping the straps past her elbows and she moves her arms out of the way, letting him pull the material down below her breasts.

"Care to try me?"

He smirks with a light chuckle, hands moving to her legs as he pushes into her from behind, clothed front pressing into her almost bare bottom.

"I wasn't." He whispers then, leaning down and brushing her hair to the side to kiss her neck. "A whore wouldn't give me so much satisfaction. She would be too easy."

She grins, hands clutching the pillow beneath her when he pulls on her hips and brings her ass further into him.

His fingertips trace her back again, this time bare and waiting. She feels him slip lower down her body, lips moving from her neck to her shoulder-blades.

"Are you saying I am too difficult?"

"I am saying that you challenge me, and I like that."

She nods slowly when he smirks into her skin, lips curving into the low of her back.

His fingers curl around the material of her gown, bringing the edge up to rest around her hips.

She pushes backwards into him, moving her knees along the sheet and gripping the pillow between her fingers.

She can feel him staring at her, beautiful darker skin tracing her own and green eyes burning holes through her skull. He's intense, and strong, and she is kind of terrified of him sometimes. With one look, he could surrender her, weaken her. But she couldn't, wouldn't, let him do that.

"How much do you like it?" She voices, voice low and almost mute as she turns her head to the side again to see him out the corner of her eye. "I doubt I'm that challenging."

Jackson smiles, hands gripping her thighs and bringing her closer, and she shifts to push herself up. She places her palms against the headboard, leaning back into his body when he slips a hand around her stomach to her breasts.

"I doubt you have any idea just how difficult you are to handle." He informs her, sliding his free hand over her bottom and between her legs. Feeling her slightly jump against him, he grins with his teeth, that million-dollar smile, "You are so incredibly frustrating."

"I thought you liked that?" She reminds him and swallows a breath when he hands leaves her breast to wrap around her neck.

"Since when do you enjoy pleasing me?"

"I am your wife."

"And my Queen."

"Not yet."

No. Only when his father deceases and he is left with everything.

"And the mother to my child."

She perks a brow, licking her lips when he leans into her, eyes staring at her mouth, "What makes you so sure I am already carrying?"

"Nothing. I'm just going to make sure you are."

"And just how are you going to do that?"

He pushes into her, mouth finding hers roughly and she bites his bottom lip, curling a hand around the back of his neck.

"I'm going to fuck you."

He breathes against her, lips still toying with hers and slipping a hand between them to open his pants.

"Properly?"

She asks with a soft blush when enters her body from behind.

Nobody had ever told her about this; about the man behind her and the aching between her legs that she would feel whenever he was so much as near her.

"Differently."

It was like she couldn't breathe straight, like the air was being sucked out of her lungs and she couldn't form words.

Her hands grip the headboard and she tilts her head back, pushing backwards into him to give him easier access, goosebumps covering her skin when he grunts into her flesh, teeth scraping her shoulder.

"Jesus." She closes her eyes, knees rubbing along the sheet and knuckles white at the pressure of him pushing into her, time and time again, speed increasing and breathing heavier.

April closes her eyes, dropping her head and gulping when he flicks his thumb across her neck, fingers tracing her skin as his other hand grasps her hip to hold her in place.

It's strange and kind of uncomfortable but the feeling of him slipping further and further into her body isn't entirely unpleasant. He knows what he's doing, he knows how to please her at the same time as himself.

"Can you-" she mumbles, moving a hand to grasp his wrist. She brings his hand to her mouth, nibbling his skin to muffle a scream.

He smirks, keeping his hold on her tighter than before and steadying his breathing, "Yeah?"

"Go faster." She breathes out, tongue tracing the bone of his wrist as she grinds into him, parting her legs further in the process.

Jackson nods, though uselessly as she fails to see, and moves his hand to her shoulder, pulling on her muscles so she straightens her back and leans into his chest.

He quickens his pace, moving faster within her and letting her throw her head back onto his shoulder, "Like that?"

The redhead nods quickly, clearly more at ease with their new position, "Uhuh."

She drops his hand, instead moving her own behind her to reach for him. She grasps the back of his neck and pulls his mouth to hers, teeth and tongue as she slips her tongue past his lips.

"I- ah!" She squeals and he grins against her lips with a soft frown at the way she rolls her ass into him, "I-"

Understanding her, he grabs her hips and pulls her off of him, dropping her back down onto the bed on her back and spreading her legs. Her chest pants and her face is flushed and he has honestly never seen anything or anyone quite so beautiful.

He's not heartless, he's just been told to fulfil his duty and never wear his heart of his sleeve. He can't afford to. He can't let her in.

He grabs her fingers, threading them through his own and lowering them down by the sides of her head. He smiles down at her, licking his lips as he watches her contort beneath him.

He pushes against her, tip at her centre and he grins when she moans.

"Beg."

"I-" April thrusts her hips up, lifting her bottom off of her sheet and closer toward him, to no prevail as he backs away slightly. She can feel herself riding that high, feel her legs shake and her body tremble with her inevitable climax. She just needs him to do it for her.

"Beg."

"Please?" She swallows a breath, tightening her hold in his hands, "Please." She mutters softly and bites her lip, shifting her hips when he pulls the practically discarded gown from her body. She had forgotten about the silk, too distracted by his touch and scent.

He lets the item drop to the ground before he clasps her hands together in his own again and nudges her legs back apart, and she wraps them around his bottom as he finally gives in, pushing into her with all his force and might.

She goes to shut her eyes until he stops her, lips tracing her jaw and eyes staring up at her own, his intense green gaze butchering her own, "Look at me."

"But-"

"I want you to look at me." He tells her, hips pressing deeper and chest rising and falling above her own.

She nods slowly then, suddenly feeling small under his stare and allowing him to consume her, to ruin her.

She would give him everything. She would give him her all. She would give him her life, her body. She would give him a child.

She would love him.

"I will always be looking at you." She tells him, forcing her hands out of his grasp to cup the sides of his face, to hold him.

If he can make her his own, why couldn't she do the same?

He was hers, she was his.

Applying pressure into him, she pushes him so he falls onto his back, hands grasping the backs of her thighs. She straddles him, palms against his chest and red hair falling along his face as she kisses him, owns him.

She could already feel it happening, already feel her despise of the man withering away, her hatred of him dissipating by the second.

Although, maybe she had never hated him in the first place. Maybe she had simply been intimidated by him, stunned by his looks and wealth. Maybe she had simply been afraid of letting him in.

But now, now that he had taken her and used her, and consumed her, she didn't feel so timid around him.

In some way, she held power over him, held ownership over his soul and his body, though he may not be aware of it.

She could have him, and take him, and use him. She could consume him, and kill him.

She could fall in love with him.

And she would make him love her back.


	6. Chapter Five

**Enjoy and review please! :)**

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE**

* * *

"Did you enjoy your meal, My Lady?"

April smiles, moving a strand of hair behind her ear and folding her hands in her lap, "It was lovely, thank you."

Jo nods, tucking a cloth beneath her arm and picking up the redhead's plates, "I'm glad."

She waltzes off then, heading back into the kitchen and leaving the slightly older girl to herself.

She doesn't normally eat alone in the evening.

Her husband usually joins her, sits at the opposite end of the long table and raises a brow every time she opens her mouth to talk.

It's a routine already.

But this time is different.

Tonight, she had sat at the table with nobody around her, nobody to talk to, and she had eaten rather hurriedly, faster than usual so she could escape back to her bedroom.

She was starting to notice that she didn't do much within a day's time.

She wakes up, bathes, has her breakfast. She chats with the other women of the House, shares a few short stories, has her afternoon piano session. She eats her supper, bathes, seduces, sleeps.

There isn't much for her to do really.

And she's not sure just how long she can last without going crazy.

She makes sure that her goblet is empty and neatly folds her napkin before she stands. Why should she wait for someone to come and tell her when she can move?

With a half-full stomach because she refuses to eat the kitchen's pudding, she heads upstairs.

It's a routine almost.

Supper, then bed, though her husband usually arrives sometime between the two and she's come to expect him.

She grasps her flowing red hair in one hand to pull it aside as she reaches the top of the staircase, feet stopping suddenly when she sees the man in question down the corridor.

Who in God's name was he talking to?

With his hands on another woman's shoulders, stood as close to the stranger as he stands by April, gaze unmoving as he looks at her.

April licks her lips, carrying on down the hall until she nears them.

Granted, he wasn't the most charming person, and she probably should not give a damn if he was frolicking with other women, but she wasn't like that.

He was hers, and she did not agree with the idea of him laying with another.

"You are going to be fine. I'll make sure of it."

She knows that it's not good to eavesdrop, it never has been, but she's never been able to control her needs either.

And just what exactly did he plan on taking care of?

Was she in trouble? Was she carrying his child?

April didn't want to think of the latter. She couldn't handle her husband fathering some whore's child.

Or was she just in need of help?

When she spots Jackson's hands running up and down the brunette's arms, she turns her gaze. The woman, girl even, was beautiful. Of course he'd be tempted, of course he'd sway. He would never pass up the opportunity of having his way with someone who had her brown locks, and bright eyes, and tender features. She was beautiful, and April was... herself.

She had never thought that she was anything special, quite the contrary.

Her mother had told her that she was a pretty girl, that she had a nice smile and big eyes. She hadn't listened.

Her father had told that she would one day make a man cave with her eyes, that she could kill a man. She hadn't paid much attention to his words.

Her sisters were different however. They had been more frank in her opinion, more honest. _You'll never find a man to love you_._ The best you will ever find is a farmer with bloody pigs and no money_._ Nobody will ever want you, April, you aren't worthy_.

And she had listened.

She had believed them, still did.

And her father marrying her off to a handsome future king didn't make much sense in their eyes. They were better suited for the role. They were prettier, and she had agreed with them.

So, of course, there was a high chance that said husband and heir would never be satisfied with her, would never be happy. How could he be? She wasn't worthy, wasn't who he needed or wanted. She wasn't enough.

She slams the large door of her bed chamber once she enters, back sliding against the metal and knees rising up to her chest.

She isn't going to cry about it, she won't shed a tear because she's feeling insecure. It happens everyday, it's not enough to sob over. Her head just drops to her hands and she sighs, mumbles words beneath her breath.

But the loud banging on the door rattles her, shakes her, and she quickly stands.

"Yes?"

She backs away towards the bed, hands cupping her jaw and she glances up at the painted ceiling to rid herself of the tears behind her eyes.

"Are you alright?"

"Do you care?" She swallows a breath, turning to face him after a moment, catching him as he shuts the door locked.

She ignores him when he steps closer to her, when his hands find her waist, when his fingers mess with the strings down the front of her dress.

She ignores him when he closing his eyes, breathing heavily and taking a step back.

"What is wrong with you?"

"With me?" She almost laughs, eyes wide and shoulders shaky, "Do not tell me you're serious."

"I am."

"Okay. If we're being honest, then who was that?" Her hand waves out back toward the door, index finger sticking out. She grimaces at him, a small frown covering her forehead and her lips dry. She gulps, glancing at the floor for a second, "Who is she?"

"She," He begins, walking closer again and taking a hold of her outstretched arm. He pins it down, wrapping his own arms around her torso and keeping her held tight against him, chest to chest and head to neck, "is nothing you need to concern yourself with."

"Is she your whore?"

He doesn't miss the way her voice breaks, the small hiccup that escapes passed her lips.

"No."

"Is she-"

He silences her, hands pressed against the sides of her face, lips crushing hers.

He needs to stop doing that.

She wants to pull away, wants to stop him and talk about things, but he makes it too hard when he slips his hands down the sides of her breasts until they rest on her hips. She shifts when he pulls on the string of her gown, tugging it open and pulling it from her shoulders, and she turns her back to him.

She slips her underwear down her legs and the small white dress over her head, dropping them down on the ground before she glances back at him over her shoulder.

"Get undressed."

"I'm sorry?" He perks a brow, clearly a little taken back by her order. He's supposed to be the one who controls her.

"I'm not going to let you fuck me again until you take a second to understand me."

He holds his arms up, clearly throwing in the towel, watching as she moves to grab the top of his loose trousers. She shoves them down his legs and tugs his shirt over his head, ridding him of his clothes.

"Now what?"

He won't lie, won't fib and say that he isn't enjoying her sudden take of charge.

"Now you're going to stand there."

"My L-"

"Quiet."

He smirks across at her, green eyes blinking and teeth digging into his bottom lip.

He's not too sure what she is getting out of this, other than taking in the sight of his nudity and admiring him in all his glory.

"Are you going to keep staring?"

She glances back up at his face, shyly smiling with a faint blush as she shrugs. She steps closer to him this time, fragile fingertips reaching out to touch his skin, to burn her own flesh.

She aims to please, wants to satisfy, craves to pleasure him.

So, she breathes, and she lowers herself down onto her knees, fingers holding his hips. She finds him, takes him, between teeth and tongue and she is sort of proud.

Because she's supposed to, and she wants to, and by the sounds she hears she's guessing that she may be good at it.

"_Fuck_."

And she does it harder, with more confidence and need, and her small fingers apply pressure into him, press him.

His hands find her hair, threading and running through her locks and tugging her nearer.

It's a little strange, and unfamiliar, but she thinks, hopes, that he enjoys it, enjoys her.

"April-"

She rises when he grips her forearms, pulling her up to stand and cupping his hands around the base of her neck, thumbs sweeping the skin of her flushed cheeks.

He knows that she's insecure, that she may feel inferior, smaller, afraid even.

And he might not treat her as tenderly as he should, but he knows that she isn't his worst enemy. She isn't the devil. She won't break him, hurt him. She won't stab him when he turns around. She won't run away.

She will stay, and she will force herself into this, even though he wouldn't make her.

"She was my sister."

He knows that she's insecure, but he's not sure why or how she came to be that way, but he wishes that would stop worrying for two whole seconds and just live. He wouldn't disobey her and lay with another woman.

She kisses him back, hands clawing at his naked chest and letting a soft purr slip past her bruised lips when he smacks her bare bottom, lifting her up with his hands tucked under her ass and walking her toward their bed.

She dips into the comfortable sheets, red hair spreading around her shoulders and letting her arms lie wide.

She is bare, and vulnerable, and his. She is his, just as much as he is hers. Her pale legs, pink lips, long eyelashes are his. She is his.

The noises she makes when she reaches ecstasy are his; they're his doing, his pride. The way she arches the small of her back into him, the way she knits her brows, the way she parts her lips before softly biting into them; they're all his. He does it to her, makes her like that. He owns her, possesses her. She is his.

His fingers trace up her spine as she leans into him, head pushed into his neck and teeth into his collarbone as he enters her, her legs pulled up beneath his arms.

He does not want another man to ever picture her like this. It's a sight for him alone. She is for him alone. Timid, and uneasy, and still somewhat innocent. She is fragile, but she's tough.

And he enjoys her like that, the way she is. He likes the banter, and the fake hatred between them. He likes her moans and sobs and cries for God when she climaxes, when she drags her nails down his back and pants. He likes the way her chest is heavy, likes the way she is unable to form words for a few moments afterwards. He likes the way she messes with him, messes him up, and spreads her legs, and uses him the way he wants her to. He likes that he can make her different.

Even though she doesn't need changing.

Because she is perfect.

When he collapses on top of her over the side of the bed, she rubs a hand over her face, hazel eyes drifting shut.

"April?"

She nods to answer him, turning to face him with a shy expression and a faint smile when he leans up on his elbow and caresses her chin.

"You are beautiful."

And she believes him.


	7. Chapter Six

**Enjoy and review please! :)**

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

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Days slowly start to pass by faster.

The hours don't seem as long, and the minutes she spends by his side or alone aren't quite as bad as they once were.

Days pass by, and over that time she comes to learn that the incident with his sister had been of a private matter, one he shouldn't have discussed with her. One he had discussed with her anyway.

"She was hurt."

Not hurt, as in bruised or bloody, though the marks on her thighs and the ripped clothing might prove otherwise. No, this was a different kind of hurt, of pain. The emotional kind, the one that does indeed sffect your body yet also rips out your soul and pride and crushes your spirit. The kind you can't move on from. The kind that makes you impure, and unholy, and that considers you a whore for being too easy. The kind where someone strange violates your someone personal, and it's all foreign and unwelcome. The kind April would never wish upon anybody.

"Is she going to be alright?" She had asked, head tucked beneath his chin and her right hand tracing patterns on his skin.

He had pouted for a quick second, lips curling and eyes closing before they flicker back open and she's rewarded with an overbearing sight of green.

"I hope."

"Hope can kill a man."

Her mother had always told her that.

Never have hope, it could fall apart. Your world could crumble within seconds and hoping that things can mend will only make matters worse.

Jackson had nodded, suddenly diverting his gaze down at her and letting his lips turn into a grin, "You could kill a man."

"Because I'm so strong?" She'd joked, sitting up beside him in the bed and folding her legs beneath her like a child. She'd knitted her brows, holding her arms up as though she was carrying heavy weights.

He'd raised a brow at her obvious teasing, hands finding her waist and pulling her back down on top of him all too abruptly.

"Because you're you."

And she had smiled at that, maybe with a small smile and a subtle blush, maybe because she didn't believe him. She, her, quiet April Kepner from up North who had a tendency to eavesdrop would never be able to slay a man with her charms. Because that would require having any charm or desirableness in the first place, things she didn't truly believe she possessed.

But she had let it slide, choosing instead to focus her eyes on his face and her hands on his chest. She was tough, and he was stronger, but when she was above him with all the need and want and power of a wild animal then she could definitely see what he might have been talking about.

Maybe she could kill a man.

"I do hope you enjoy today's arrangement?"

"It's beautiful, Sir Taylor."

She's not sure what kind of man likes to spend time with flowers and trees and leaves all day long, but Matthew Taylor sure seems like he does.

Though he also enjoys tea without milk rather than with it, so she doesn't understand him all that well.

"The roses were carefully selected for you by your Lord Avery. He says that you appreciate roses, is that true?"

It was. She loved them, the red more than the white, and the white more than the pink. Roses were her absolute favourites, aside from orchids. For the smell, and the appearance, and the glow, and the silky texture that makes her fingertips feel like velvet. Roses were one of her favourite simple things in life, but orchids held an entirely different, special, place in her heart

"It is." She nods, holding a hand up to her neck to brush her red hair to the side as she sits down on one of the dining hall chairs.

She had been so tired lately, and it could not be from a lack of sleep. Her feet ached and her back arched, and, every now and then, she would feel shooting pains up her spine and the urge to bring her food back up her stomach would be too overbearing.

She knew what it was before she'd been told.

She was pregnant. With an Avery. With an heir, his heir. She now owned two parts of him, just as much as he owned two parts of her.

"Are you alright, My Lady?"

"I- I am absolutely fine, Sir Taylor. You don't have to worry."

She couldn't tell a virtual nobody that she was carrying before she even told the father.

"But I do, and you look a little pale- Can I get you anything?" Matthew backs away from the table, hands leaving his precious flowers and frowning as she leans back uncomfortable in her seat.

"I don't need anything." April shakes her head.

"Are you nauseous?" He sounds concerned, and much like a child asking their mother if she was ill. "Oh my, is it because of those rumours?"

"Which ones? The ones that say that my husband likes the company of whores, or the ones that say I spread my legs to get him to marry me? Either way, they're false."

"I don't know about-"

She likes Sir Taylor. She appreciates his company when he talks about daisies and daffodils and roses and tulips. She doesn't mind when he's around to talk to when her husband is off doing something important with his father, the man who happens to own this part of the world's land.

"What are you saying?"

Because no matter what, she won't believe him. Not when she knows that his lies aren't the truth, aren't real.

"I am only... suggesting that maybe you do not know everything there is to know about Lord Avery."

"And you do?"

She's not a horrible person,

"Please. Tell me something, one thing, that you know about my husband that I do not, hm? Go on. Are you going to tell me how he used to make his way through the Whorehouse? Or just how he wasn't very fond of the way his father sent a woman into his room when he was fifteen and told him to 'be a man, a future king'? I know everything there is to possibly know about him."

"But he doesn't love you!"

She's not clueless.

"But you do. Don't you?"

She has him cornered. She's just confused what kind of man would shamelessly admit to loving another man's expecting wife?

"Yes."

"Well, I am sorry. Truly, I am. I'm sorry that I can't return the sentiment, I'm sorry that you apparently fell for me even though we've barely spoken and you know nothing about me-"

"I know more about you than he does!" He sighs then, hand running through his light brown hair as he paces back and forth. "He doesn't even know your favourite flower. He doesn't- He doesn't deserve you! He doesn't understand you the way I do-"

"Sir Taylor-"

"Matthew. My name, it's Matthew. And you know that. And you hate to call people Sir and Lady and Lord. You hate being privileged. You miss the North. You miss your parents. You love roses more than anything, your favourite meal is the roasted chicken that Jo cooks up on Sundays."

"Are you finished?"

"I just- I do not understand how you could settle for being his-"

"His what?" She raises a brow, daring him to continue.

"His whore."

"I would rather be his whore than your anything."

She's not a horrible person.

She just has respect, for herself and for Jackson's name, and she won't let some nobody waltz in and claim to know her better than she knows herself.

"I think you should leave now." She stands up, palm pressed against her abdomen. "For future reference, roses are not my favourites."

"Is your father getting any better?"

Days pass, hours fly, and sometime a couple of days ago, the King had fallen ill and was on bed-rest until he was feeling up to the challenge of reporting back to his land.

In the meantime however, it was Jackson that had to take charge and rule, but luckily the man was born a leader and ownership was in his genes.

He glances back at her from his seat on the edge of their bed, hands on his knees and head dropped. He's tired, worn, aching.

"He's... progressing."

April nods, unpinning the few strands of hair that were held up by clips around the back of her neck.

He stops when she feels a pair of hands on her shoulders, fingertips tapping her collarbone as she tilts her head sideways to look at him.

"Are you alright?"

"Best I can be."

She licks her lips, dropping her hair clips onto the small metal tray on her dresser. Turning back around against him, April lets her hands wander down his chest before they stop along the bottom of his shirt.

"Are you sleepy?" He almost laughs at her use of the word, like a child, like a toddler who craves sleep and a good cushion.

"Am I sleepy?" He smirks, watching as she slowly nods with a faint blush. "I think I might need a nap, Mother."

She swats his arm at the joke, then unable to move her arm away when he grasps her wrist and holds it against him.

"I don't, really." He lies.

She can see the faint purple colour beneath his eyes, the way he holds back a yawn when he glances down to mess with the ties of her robe, slipping them open and letting the gown hang from her shoulders.

Maybe she shouldn't have bathed before he came in

"Has it already been emptied?"

She shakes her head, watching as Jackson runs his hands up her still damp arms.

"No."

"Wonderful."

Pretty soon, she finds herself back in the same place she'd occupied earlier. In warm water, only this time there was someone else with her and she wasn't washing.

She adjusts into his lap, letting her hands move to the sides of his neck. Resting her knees on either side of his thighs, she pushes closer, arching her back into him when he slips a hand down her front and the other down her back.

"Have you ever pleasured yourself?"

She'd been comfortable there, close to him and heated against his warmth. Until he'd asked that question, that was.

"I'm sorry?"

Jackson grins, eyelashes flickering as though he's going to reel her in, "Have you?"

"Before you did?"

"Ever?"

April gulps, feeling a light red colour rise to her cheeks.

"No."

"Never?"

"Not once."

"Do you want to?" He knows that he's doing, and he proud. She can tell by the way his lips curl upward and his green eyes darken.

"Now? With you- here?" She swallows a breath then, closing her eyes and raising her hands. Is there anyway of getting out of it?

He reaches down beneath the water, placing the palms of his hands flat against her thighs. "Yes."

"Oh."

She chews on her bottom lip for a moment, letting her eyes drift below, admiring his flesh against hers.

"I wouldn't know how." April flutters her lashes, peeking up at him with a small yet wicked smile. She leans closer into his body, bare breasts pushing against his bare chest and wrapping her arms around his neck. She towers over him this way, and she presses her head into the side of his neck, "I guess you might have to teach me."

Jackson smirks, hands quickly reaching out for her own and bringing them down to her legs. The water blurs her view of what he does, but she gets the gist when she feels her own fingertips pressed against herself.

He moves her hand back and forth, causing friction and tension and she's honestly a little confused by the feeling. It's not him, though he is technically the one controlling her and leading her and showing her what to do. It's her. And it might be a little stranger than she had originally thought.

Because, pretty soon, her fingers part, and her body awakens and she's reminded that she's not a little girl anymore.

Little girls don't do this. Little girls don't let big boys do this. She doesn't do this, only now she is and she finds it weird yet incredible.

Without realising it, his hand is no longer working at grasping her own, and he's cupping the aides of her face, pulling her lips down onto his as she continues to rub a hand against herself below the water.

And pretty soon, the tree that is her hand branches out and she learns just how amazing her velvety fingertips truly are.

And she has him to thank for that. She has him to thank when she feels her legs part further, feels her body implode and convulse. She has him to thank for showing her her own talents.

Jackson watches on as she thrives, eyes drifting up and down her body as she spasms, as she lifts her hands to his shoulders and collapses against him after a second.

"You like that?"

She nods like a good girl, like a little girl wanting candy. And she kisses him, like the wicked woman that her mother warned her about turning into.

I would rather be his whore than your anything.

And she would is, maybe she is.

But she isn't that little girl anymore. She doesn't still braid pony's hair and laugh with her sisters.

She's a woman now, and she has him to thank for that.

"You changed the flowers, I noticed."

It's a little strange as a conversation starter, but she just frowns and goes along with it, lets him talk and grasp her hips to pull her down onto his length.

She shifts comfortably, nails digging into his shoulder-blades and biting her bottom lip, "Yes?"

"I didn't know you liked roses."

Maybe she knew everything about him, but he knew nothing about her. Maybe he liked sharing about himself, but didn't like it when she did the same. Maybe he didn't know her.

"You didn't?"

"I thought you liked orchids." He tells her honestly, eyes shutting as he lets his head drop back, hands clutching her waist as she runs her wet hands over his face and neck, pouring the water down him and letting her soaked skin stick to his own.

And then she's confused. Because not many people of her love for orchids, and she fails to see how he could know about it.

"At our wedding, you kept... staring at them, and... smelling them. It was a little bit strange, really." He goes to laugh, but it turns into a groan when she pushes deeper onto him, surprised and kind of shocked.

"You saw me?"

"I was watching you."

Maybe he does know her. Maybe she wants him to.

"Jackson?" Her voice hitches, breath catching and lips parting as she continues to ride him, hands clawing at his bones and teeth drawing blood. She responds when he kisses her, eager to taste the blood of her lips and the bruises of his previous embrace.

"Hmm?" She's not sure he's entirely respondent, or even in the right state of mind for what she's about to tell him.

"I'm carrying."

Maybe she is his whore, but she's also his wife, and the mother of his child.

Maybe she is the reason for his existence.

She is his life.

She is his.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Enjoy and review please! :)**

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**CHAPTER SEVEN**

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News travels fast, it seems.

In two days, word had spread, gotten out, and by the time that April made it back into the castle that evening after her walk with Arizona, it seemed that everyone was aware of the good news.

There was going to be an heir, another one.

But April wasn't sure that she could handle all of the pressures already being pushed on her.

She was followed, at every step and around every corner, as though nobody dared leave her alone in fear that something tragic might happen.

It was nice to have people concerned about you, but there's also always a moment or two where you would prefer to be alone.

So, she walks, into the evening before Jo serves supper, and she chats with Arizona about the day's events.

Arizona was a tall blonde, born up in the North much like April. She had wed a second cousin of Jackson's so she happened to spend quite a bit of time around the Avery Caste with her.

She stays for dinner sometimes, when her husband is otherwise busy and when Jackson is too preoccupied to join his wife.

"I must go." She speaks, sending the redhead a small smile.

April frowns, "Do you have to go right away?"

"I'm afraid I have to, Ca- Alexander demands my return." She grasps the other woman's hand, "It's been lovely seeing you."

She doesn't question her slip-up, her stutter, but she nods and accepts Arizona's goodbye.

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Definitely."

So, she leaves, and the red haired woman finally breathes out, finding her alone in an empty dining hall.

She sits, waiting for Jo to make an exit from the kitchen.

After a moment, she stands, hands flat against her still invisible belly.

Pushing open the door to the cookery, she glances around with a frown when she notices an empty space. There were no staff, no servants. Not even any food served or waiting.

It wasn't that she was hungry, just that she expected to receive the girl's company.

Jo usually came out with her, their, supper. She tended to chat with the future queen, usually more often when Jackson doesn't join the table.

"What in the-"

Spinning back around, she feels her arms fly up to her chest as she bumps into someone. They grasp her forearms, stopping her from moving, holding her in safe place.

"Are you alright, My Lady?"

She recognises him as one of the servants, the young man who tends to cater to her husband's requests and who spends his free time with Jo.

"I am. Do you know where everybody has gone?"

The boy, who couldn't possibly be any older than sixteen, raises his brows, letting go of her arms gently. His name is Ross, she thinks. She tends to remember him for his chocolate eyes contrasting perfectly with his darker skin tone, and he was the son of Chef Bailey.

"We were given the night off, My Lady. It is strange, really, since it almost never happens." Ross rambles, blinking and hand fluttering about, "But Lord Avery said that you were aware of this? Jo said you were to be in your chambers by now?"

"At half past seven?"

"I don't know, My Lady. I'm just a messenger, it seems." He shrugs, clearly almost as baffled as she is.

April nods slowly at his every word, patting a hand to his shoulder. "Thank you."

"And congratulations." He calls out when she walks past him, heading for the door.

She just turns, smiles, before she goes back on her way, in search of her husband or someone with an ounce of information.

Perhaps slipping into the room had been a bad idea.

She was sure that she was not supposed to be hearing this.

"His heart is weak, My Lord. I'm not sure how much longer we have left."

She hears a sigh, sees her husband place his hands to his hips from where she stands.

"Will he make it though the night?"

"At this point, the odds of him making it through the next four hours are poor."

Spotting Jackson drop his head, gaze to the ground, she steps forward, coming out of her shadows.

"My Lady-"

She stands beside Jackson, palm against the low of his back and the other hand on her stomach.

"What are you doing here?"

"I am your wife."

As though that's reason enough, as though that will explain everything he needs to hear right now.

She is here for support, for him. He needs help, and aid, a little comfort in this moment.

"You should not be here." Jackson informs her, lifting his gaze to look at her sideways. He drops his hands again, swallowing a breath and turning his body away from the sick man in the plump bed.

April continues to stare.

He isn't well.

His skin is pale, most likely due to a lack of hydration and fluids. He seems weak, like he wouldn't even be able to lift a finger. He makes small coughing sounds every so often, a little too rough than what should be considered healthy.

"You need me."

It's a fact.

He needs her, might always will, probably always has.

She is his wife, and he mother of his unborn child, and his future Queen. She is his, his comfort and soothing. She is his blanket on a cold night, his ice when he feels too warm.

"I need you.

And he is going to, now and forever.

Because his father is not well, and he's going to be the one responsible, and he will need her by his side. As his support, his reassurance, his hope.

She will give him courage, and strength, and a child. She will share her life with him the way he wants, needs, her to. She will be his. She will be there. She will want him to need her.

Feeling his hand grasp her own tenderly, her breath hitches at the sensation. It's nice, and simple, and he's never quite touched her like that before.

"Come with me."

When her back comes into contact with the wooden door behind her, she stops him, palms to his chest.

"Wait."

"What?"

"I have to ask you something."

He backs away, slides his shirt from his body in the process, toys with the strings of his pants.

April sighs, licking her dry lips as she moves. She chews on. Her lip for a second, hands patting down the sides of her dress before she rests her fingertips loosely on the ties of her gown.

She watches as Jackson sits down on the bed, elbows to his knees and head dropped again.

Maybe now isn't the right time, she thinks.

He seems challenged, damaged, and though she's never lost a parent she can almost understand what he's going through.

Taking a shallow breath, she walks toward him. She stops right in front of him, knees bumping above his and she lifts her hands to the long straps of her dress.

"Do you like this?"

"Is that what you wanted to ask me?"

She ignores him. She knows what she's doing, what he needs.

"Do you like this?"

Jackson lifts his head, green eyes catching sight of her hands on the material. "It's... lovely." He frowns, aware of what she's trying to do but unsure of how she's choosing to go about it.

Her fingers move across the red gown, tapping along her collarbone and at the base of her neck. "What about this?" Her hands move further south, between her cleavage and across her breasts.

"I do." He nods, kicking his legs out and leaning back on his forearms.

She grins wickedly, pulling down the straps of her dress, letting the cloth gather at her elbows. "How about now?"

"I'm not sure."

She slips them lower, resting just below her now bare breasts. Gone is the innocent good girl who came here months ago. She was a woman now. A woman who knows what she wants and knows exactly how to get it. It was as though there was some chemical reaction going off in her brain, and a monster in the pit of her stomach that was telling her what to do.

April lets him pull her closer, dragging the material of her dress towards him and pushing it past her hips. "Now?"

He leans forward, forehead pressed to her belly and nose caressing her pelvis. "Not yet."

His hands slide the dress down her frame, letting it pool at her feet and allowing her the space to step out of it.

His palms run up the outsides of her creamy thighs, thumbs tracing the insides. He presses a soft kiss to her pelvis before grasping her hips gently and drawing her closer.

She moans softly when he kisses and nibbles along the insides of her thighs, her hands flying to rest against his shoulders.

"How about now?"

Her voice breaks, squeaks,

"Almost."

She suddenly feels him grab her behind, lifting her up to swing her to the side, her back colliding with the mattress beneath him. He turns sideways, hands cradling her face and lips damp.

She lies down silently, giving him full control of the situation, of her.

He kisses her once softly, a little too quickly, before he brings his lips down to her collarbone. His teeth graze her skin innocently before he continues down, skimming past her chest and heading straight for her belly button. He licks her flesh, tongue lapping at her skin and she can't help but let her eyelids drift close.

His hands move to her knees and he pushes her legs apart, shifting to pepper kisses down the creases of her skin. She keeps her eyes sealed as he moves, her voice pitching high notes from deep in her throat when she feels him press his lips to her centre.

A hand moves toward her core, fingers tracing her slit, as he sweeps his tongue across her bundle of nerves, repeatedly and expertly.

She calmly keeps her mouth closed, teeth clamped and biting into her bottom lip. "Uh." She nervously twitches, body arching off to the side as she feels him slowly start to bring her to climax, thumb tapping rhythmically and furiously at her nub.

"Jac- Eh!" She groans, eyelids fluttering like wings as she writhes, almost convulses beneath his touch.

She almost doesn't want it to end, like she might die if she finishes, if it ends. It's like there was something that was stopping her, that didn't want her to win. It was like experienced something so great, so unique and earth-shattering that you were holding off on its end.

She doesn't feel like she can end, so she pulls away, hips moving out of his range, almost like she was rejecting him. She thinks it's an odd quirk, that her hips can move all on their own without her controlling them. Like they've had enough, like they don't want to stop, like the pleasure was too great and it almost becomes painful to witness.

But he pins her, hand to thigh, and tongue to sensitive skin, and she dies, in every sense of the word without actually dying. It's like a bomb exploded in your insides, like incredible torture that you can't help but love and it's an endless joy.

"Now." He tells her, pressing his lips back against the insides of her legs pulled up at his head and smirking into her tainted flesh.

She wants to hit him. For joking, for teasing, for making her feel such a thing. It was like her brain had been telling her that she didn't want to finish, didn't need to, and that if she did she would be on death's door.

He pulls back up at her side, collapsing down beside on the bed, a smile on his face.

"You are definitely a sight."

She's not sure whether to take that as a compliment, so she just rolls to the side, hitches a leg over his and straddles him, hands to his chest and pushing him back down this time.

"Do you like this?" She starts up again, grinding her jittery hips into his clothed ones and running her thumbs down his jugular.

"You riding my cock?" He quips, fingertips roughly digging into her waist. He had forgotten for a brief moment there that she was carrying his child. But as long as he wasn't too rough than there shouldn't be a problem. Jackson blinks, licking his lips and eyeing the woman above him.

"Yes. Do you like it?"

"Can't you feel that?"

She nods, pushing further into him and biting her lip, "Definitely. It's so... hard."

He smirks, pulling her closer and running a had up her back.

He isn't sure when things had changed; when she'd gone from being his virginal wife to an animal in the bedroom. It was definitely a change for the good, at least he thought so. How could he not?

She wasn't shy, though she still tended to blush at certain things. But that was to be expected. She was lovely, and decent, and she didn't deserve to be treated like anything less. She deserved to be treated like royalty, like who she was. She wasn't common, or cheap, or a whore like his father had so kindly suggested he opt for.

She deserved romance because she was kind. She looked like she should and acted as such, but what goes on between a man and wife in their bed is a private matter.

Why should anybody ever know just how corrupted he had made her?

She was his.

He was the only one that needed to know how to please her, pleasure her, love her. He was the only one to touch her, fuck her, make love to her.

He was the only one to love her.

He comes to the realisation when he feels her hands fondling the loose ties of his pants and stops her hands.

"What are you doing?"

"Hopefully-" She gestures down to his pants, freeing her hand and continuing with her travels. He lets her slip the garment from his body before she resumes her place above him, legs spread over his.

She leans down this time, lips pressing to the crook of his neck, pink tongue tracing his own flesh. She keeps shuffling lower until she reaches his navel, hands grasping his sides, a groan emitting from the back of her throat when a loud banging sounds at the door.

April rolls her eyes, giggling when he grasps her hips and pins her beneath him again, leaning back and letting his hands lightly tap down her legs.

"Yes?" He shouts to the door with a proud smirk as she shivers under his body, back arching when he slips his hand down her front again.

"My Lord, it's your father."

"Is he-" April begins quietly, only loud enough for Jackson to hear.

He hushes her, hand over her mouth as he breathes out in silence.

"I warn you, it is very urgent."

He moves at that, rising above April and stepping away from the bed. Quickly retrieving his pants off of the floor, he stands back up, pulling the cloth up his legs.

She kneels on the bed, pulling the sheet up to shield her body for when he opens the door. She doesn't want his guards to see her in her pride.

He pulls his forgotten shirt over his head in a hurry, leaving the small buttons open as he walks toward the door, unbolting it.

"I can come with you-"

He silences her by backtracking his steps and cupping the sides of her face between his hands.

He needs her. He needs her comfort, her aid, but only in the sidelines right now.

"I love you." He tells her honestly, forehead pressed to hers and lips dry. He smiles softly, thumb pinching her chin before he spins back around and leaves the room.

"Okay."

She doesn't need to ask him anymore.


End file.
